


A Key to Happiness

by lucdarling



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy Hargrove Lives, Casual Form I-9 fraud, Gen, Growing Up, Mechanic Billy Hargrove, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, Post-Episode: s03e08 The Battle of Starcourt, This is the nerdiest thing I've written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29218185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucdarling/pseuds/lucdarling
Summary: Billy didn't die on the mall floor. He's got a bank account now, and a job.Then the house on Cherry Lane goes up for sale and Billy has an idea.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove & Neil Hargrove, Billy Hargrove & Susan Hargrove
Comments: 24
Kudos: 47





	A Key to Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by [this Reddit AskHistory post](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskHistorians/comments/ggozng/in_the_sitcom_married_with_children_protagonist/?utm_source=amp&utm_medium=&utm_content=post_title), asking if Al Bundy really could have afforded his mortgage and lifestyle as well as the DOL wage surveys from the 1980s. I spent an hour on Friday night doing calculations. I threw in the I-9 fraud for free.

“Sign here,” Susan points and Billy does as he’s told. Leaning over the counter to put his John Hancock in a place he missed the night before when these same papers were strewn all over the counter makes his lungs ache.

He’s never needed a bank account before, but now he’s got a pittance from the government. Billy isn’t certain if his dad knows how much it is, when he’s going to claim it. He’s hoping putting it in a bank account with his name on it - perk of being nineteen and a legal adult - means Neil can’t touch it.

That’s why he’s leaning across from Susan’s bank teller counter, on a day that Neil is at a conference across the state for other security guards and similar professions. Neither of them expect the visit to go unremarked - everyone in Hawkins knows Billy, and knows Neil works at the bank.

Susan looks at the door but it’s just another customer waiting to deposit her weekly check.

“I’ll see you at home, Billy. Thanks for stopping by.” Susan smiles, false and wide. Billy bares his teeth and saunters out the door.

He picks up a job at the auto mechanic by the time autumn’s whispering through the leaves as they curl and die, pulling an illegal U-turn in the middle of the street when he spies the Help Wanted sign in the garage bay. It’s on the outskirts of Hawkins, near enough to the interstate that Billy reckons they see all the flat tires and whatever else happens to the tourists heading up to the Dunes.

“Got experience?”

“Built her back up, after a wreck.” Billy jerks his thumb at his baby, restored leather seats and an engine that purrs. “Done a few oil changes and tire checks for the neighbors here and there.”

“You did the work yourself?” Billy shakes his head, since he had plenty of help when he couldn’t grip a ⅛ wrench or have the strength to hold the buffer once she was ready for state inspection. He used to be a grease monkey, before his mother would have enough and dragged him out of the neighbor’s garage and down to the beach. Before she left and his neighbor moved. Before they moved to Hawkins and he died.

“I’m gonna take a chance,” the man says. His jumpsuit says Donald, namepatch curling at the edges with age. “You’re hired, but you mess up too much and you’re out of here. I can’t keep on a man who’s not pulling his weight.”

“Yessir.” Billy says, the words familiar if not comfortable on his tongue. One strike and he’s out. It’s just another balancing act for the Hargrove kid, better get your ticket and place your bets now, his mind tells him uncharitably.

The man makes a sour face at the name but tells Billy to report by 8AM in two days’ time.

"Bring your ID on Monday," Donald calls. Billy raises a hand that he understands.

Monday comes and Billy finds himself staring at paperwork.

"What is this?" He can write in passport details, his license, his birth certificate, or his social card. He doesn't even know anyone who has a passport. Billy always thought he'd live and die in California until Neil dragged him to the Midwest.

"Something the government started last week, announced a year ago." Donald shrugs. "I know you got your driver's license, hard not to miss that blue Camaro whipping around."

"I've seen my birth certificate once," Billy says quietly. He remembers the day, standing in line at the public library with his mom. He was a kid then, just learning his letters. He had traced his name and his mom's name with chubby fingers before she lifted him up to put it on the glass of the photocopier.

He doesn't know why she took it, and not him.

"It might have gotten lost in the move," Billy says thoughtfully, mind churning. "Not sure it's worth disturbing my dad over."

"You got three days to find it, then I'll write something down." Donald says. "In the mean time, why don't you start by organizing the tool chest on the far side of the garage. My knees aren't what they used to be."

Billy tries, that night, to talk to his dad. It goes as well as he expects.

"I need my birth certificate," Billy says. Susan and Max are in her room, doing girly things. Neil is watching the game.

"What for?" Neil looks away from the tv screen.

"Some sort of government form," Billy tells him. "I started a new job today at the auto shop right out of town."

"Good," Neil approves. "Showing some responsibility at last, good."

"So my birth certificate?" Billy tries again, tells himself not to fidget or bite at his thumbnail. That way invites Neil's censure.

Neil scoffs. "No. I've never heard of such a thing. Government wants to know who you are, they have a copy of it somewhere."

Billy goes to bed, strangely disappointed but not surprised.

Donald makes a thoughtful noise when Billy tells him the conversation without details and pulls Billy's I-9 closer to him.

"Your mom doesn't have a copy? She seems like a smart woman, every time I do deposits at the end of the month. Hard to believe she would have lost such paperwork in a move but I suppose stranger things have happened."

"She's not my mother," Billy tells him. There's no sneer behind the words, but saying it out loud sends an ache through him.

"Okay, I got it. Let's see, it's a birth certificate." Donald scrawls on the paper. "Issued in the state of-"

"California." Billy answers when Donald raises an eyebrow at him.

"Of course. Then we'll put some numbers here, not like the government is gonna check their own records. Can you imagine?"

Billy presses his lips in a thin line, an effort not to smile. Donald isn't half as curmudgeonly as he'd expected.

"That look right to you?"

Billy shrugs. "Looks okay."

"Great," Donald sweeps the paperwork with Billy's identity into a folder and sets it on the corner of the desk. "Now let's go do some actual work, none of this paper pushing to appease the bureaucrats."

The work is familiar, even if he goes to bed with aching muscles and raw skin where he’s scrubbed the dirt out from under his nails.

His dad leaves him alone for the first time in Billy’s memory. Neil seems almost proud, now that Billy is a respectable member of society with a work uniform and regular hours.

He bargains with Donald once winter comes to take his lunch break late, mysteriously coinciding it with the time that Max gets out of school.

So long as it’s not a day where she has detention or some club, he picks her up and he gets lunch at the diner. They both avoid the new mall, rebuilt on the ashes of tragedy and lies.

Their relationship is better now, Billy’s anger not so volatile. Max is deep into teenage sarcasm and her own brand of anger, flash in a pan before it cools to a grudge. Billy doesn’t tell her he can relate, just offers her the rest of his fries as she rants across the table.

Slowly, his paychecks move up from $3.35 minimum wage to something better. A number that makes Billy think he could maybe start giving serious consideration to that block of apartments on the other side of Hawkins.

Maybe a two bedroom, just so Max has somewhere to go. Or Susan, if Billy thought she would dare to dream that big.

He doesn’t say a word, just continues to put away money in his first bank account.

It comes to a halt when it’s time for tax season. Billy’s struggling with the form and the worksheets, cursing at the bedamned government bloodsuckers. He throws a pillow across the room instead of planting a fist in the wall, better coping mechanisms and all.

“Trouble, son?” His dad raps on the doorframe of his bedroom and smiles.

Billy’s heart goes into double time.

“Why don’t you let me help? Wouldn’t do to upset the government, not after they were so kind to make sure you stayed in the land of the living.” A large hand comes down on his shoulder, grounding to any outsider peering through the window. Pressing him down, so Billy always knows his place.

“Make sure you report all your earnings,” his dad orders. He reaches across Billy’s desk to the little grey notebook Billy uses to keep track of his paychecks, gas and myriad expenses. Even taking Max out to lunch when she’s had a rough day gets its own expense and line item.

He had picked up the idea from an older guy at the garage. Well, less picked up than the palm-size notebook was waiting on Billy’s toolbox one morning with the columns and line items already scratched in. Guess the man was tired of hearing Billy complain he didn’t know where his paycheck was going.

It’s been a life saver, since Billy doesn’t dare ask for bank statements to be sent home. He puts his trust in Susan, who gets him the information about his bank balance at the end of the month.

He has a feeling Susan might have her own balance sheet, probably keeps it in her head. Billy isn’t smart like that, hence the notebook.

“Government don’t care about this nuts and bolts sort of thing,” his dad waves the notebook. “But I’m glad to see you taking an interest. That’s important, if you ever want to make a name for yourself.”

Billy stays silent, hands over his stack of paycheck stubs and W-2 so his dad can double-check his math with a hunt and peck on the calculator he’d kept even after high school graduation in a hospital bed.

“Well damn,” His dad pronounces after Billy has signed the 1040 and sealed it in the envelope to the IRS. “Seems like you’re out there making a living for yourself.”

“I suppose you could say that,” Billy agrees carefully. His heart is in his throat, rabbit fast.

“About time you start pulling your weight around here then,” his dad announces, slapping the notebook down on the desk. Billy flinches despite his best intentions.

“I figure a month’s rent at one of those rundown crack dens might set you back $200 a month.” 

Billy knows it’s more like $130 a month but doesn’t say a thing.

His dad starts pacing Billy’s room, pausing when he reaches the nightstand and turning back to walk to the desk where Billy sits, frozen. “Now that’s one of those unfurnished places, and I’d say you got yourself a pretty sweet deal here. Nice bed, free laundry thanks to my loving wife and a full kitchen.”

“Yessir,” Billy agrees. He doesn’t stammer. He’s thought about it plenty, how expensive it would be to furnish a place all over again or pay the cost of renting a truck and trying to move out from under Neil’s nose. It would be worse for his wallet but better for his nerves if he did the former.

“I think we could probably say your setup here is worth $300 a month, wouldn’t you say.” His dad’s voice is flat, because it’s not a question.

Billy chokes on air. That’s nearly a full paycheck, now that he’s finally making over minimum wage and getting paid $4.50 an hour.

“Of course,” his dad says with faux carelessness. “All this could be worth more.” He sweeps his hand out, like a game show host. His eyes are dark and mean. “How much do you think this is all worth, son?”

“I think $300 is a fair estimate,” Billy says.

“Good boy,” his dad says. He smiles, victorious. Billy waits for the metaphorical blow to land.

“We’ll make your rent due at the first of the month, just like a landlord would. I don’t kid myself, Billy. You’ll be out on your own before long, you need to learn how the world works. I’m happy to help you learn, I’d hate for you to fall on your face.”

He doesn’t seem to expect an answer, just leaves Billy’s bedroom with a sure step.

Billy’s pillow beats against the walls until he can’t lift it any longer and then he presses it to his face, screams himself hoarse.

“What are you doing?” Max’s voice and expression clearly indicates she thinks Billy has finally lost it. “Are taxes really that hard?”

“No,” Billy groans and slumps down on his mattress. “I have to start paying rent.”

“Yeah, like $150 a month.” Max says casually. “I heard my mom last night running the numbers, she thought that sounded like a fair estimate.”

Billy laughs and laughs at that until his belly hurts.

He scowls at work the next day, hard enough the guys tease that his face will freeze that way.

“What’s wrong, Bill?” Donald takes him aside when it’s quitting time. “You end up owing some stupid large amount to the IRS? We’ve all been there, you’re young enough you’ll make it back by the end of this year.”

“No, I got that all figured out. I just gotta start paying rent.”

“What’d your old man charge you, a hundred?” Donald laughs.

“Three,” Billy stares at him until Donald blinks.

“What? Three hundred? In a house he already owns?”

“He doesn’t own it,” Billy offers with a shrug. “Still paying rent, as far as I know.”

“Then your father’s a fool. Buy a house, build some equity.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“You’ll learn.” Donald says with a grin. “You’re gonna make something of yourself, Billy, and I’ll be damn glad to see you stick to your old man one day.”

“Might be waiting a while,” Billy says to Donald’s back as he gets in his own muscle car and drives off, leaving Billy to lock up.

In the beginning of Max’s senior year, the house on Cherry Lane goes up for sale. It’s like Billy wakes up and the For Sale sign is there, stake in the front yard. He still lives at home, cautious of stepping in between Neil’s cantankerous attitude and Max’s little rebellions but knowing he can weather the consequences better than her if push comes to shove. So far, it hasn’t come to it but Billy can see the signs.

“Does this mean we have to move again?” Max pushes some corn around her plate.

“No,” Neil answers her, voice gruff. He’s still in his work uniform even though the clock is pushing six pm. Billy wonders if he’s moonlighting on the side, just switching out the uniform patches on the jacket. He wouldn’t be the first, not since prices have started going up for everything.

Billy will say this about Donald, he’s a man who believes in family. The garage closes at five and anyone can just wait until morning’s light for their carburetor or oil change.

“So you’re not having trouble paying the mortgage?” Max challenges. Everyone at the table has heard the screaming fights, thankfully not yet turned physical.

Billy wonders where his dad is putting away the part of his paycheck, figures he drinks it away in between or after shifts.

“We’re fine, Max.” Her mom turns a smile on, like flicking a switch. Max scoffs and Billy keeps his head down, the wheels turning in his mind.

“So how do you go about buying a house?” Billy asks as he’s tightening the lug nuts on the brand new wheels of a Ford that’s seen better days.

“Talk to the bank,” Donald says. “Not much difference than buying a business, I reckon. Where you looking at?”

“Kicking my old man to the curb.” Billy bares his teeth as he finishes the last turn.  
Donald chuckles. “Good for you, kid.”

Susan has to help him, again. Billy sets up an appointment at the bank and brings his little notebook of expenses, the previous year’s tax return, a letter from Donald that he’s a good employee and a hard worker.

His leg bounces as she reviews it all.

“I wouldn’t let your father know that you make more than him,” Susan finally speaks. Her eyes are a little wide as she stares at his pay stubs. “He won’t like that.”

That’s news to Billy but all he says is, “I know. So do you think it’s feasible, me buying Cherry Lane?”

Susan sets the papers down and links her fingers. “Are you sure you want to, Billy? A house is a big commitment and I know you don’t have the-” She breaks off to swallow, not meeting his eyes as she finishes delicately, “the nicest memories there.”

“Yeah but it’s Max’s home.” The words come easily to his lips and then hang between them.

Billy probably should have expected the tears. He passes the tissue box wordlessly to Susan.

“Okay.” She collects herself. “That’s very sweet of you Billy but please don’t feel like you have to.”

“Nah, building equity with this. Whatever equity is.” Billy waves off her explanation. “Look Sue, I buy this house? I’m kicking my dad out.” He takes a deep breath after that sentence, the first time he’s said it out loud.

Susan blinks, now it’s her turn to be visibly surprised.

“You want to stay with him, you can.” Billy crosses his arms and uncrosses them, anxious for reasons he doesn’t want to examine. “I won’t stop you, stupid decision as it is. But I figure you’ve probably been building some sort of nest egg on the side, I know my mom did.”

“So you’re going to buy the house on Cherry Lane and what? Live there?”

“Yeah,” Billy scratches at his head. “You, me and Max. If you want.” He shrugs, suddenly self-conscious at the idea of being almost twenty-one and thinking to dictate how Max’s mother - the same one who left the room when his dad got started, who can’t carry a tune in a bucket but always hums as she cleans, who married his dad - how and where she should live, should Billy pull this off.

Susan stares at the paperwork in front of her. “You’ll need to be approved for the loan, Billy, but I don’t see any reason why you wouldn’t be. I can talk to the agent once that goes through, and then set up an appointment for the two of you.” She smiles, lip curling like she’s telling a joke. “This is only the beginning of the paperwork for you, should your offer be accepted.”

“Of course it is,” Billy groans and thumps his head on the table in front of him. Susan pats his hand gently, like he’ll lift his head and bite her. He stays very still instead and she withdraws quickly.

“I’ll let you know what the bank says,” Susan promises and Billy pushes himself to his feet to get back to work. His lunch break is over.

It goes very fast, after that. Billy’s hand cramps with all the papers he has to fill out, the forms in triplicate and he spends at least a solid half-hour at the copy shop making multiples of his ID, his pay statements, everything to show he’s not going to welch on this stupid mortgage.

He’s twenty-one and he’s going to have a mortgage. Billy would laugh himself sick if he didn’t have plans to be implemented as soon as he’s got the keys in his hand. Like his hare-brained idea to change the locks on his father as soon as the ink dries on the contract, see just how he likes being trapped outside.

It looks like he can make it a reality now. Billy can’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Minimum wage in the mid-late 1980s is $3.35
> 
> According to the US Bureau of Labor Statistics, in 1985 an "automobile mechanic" would earn an average of $7.72/hr to bring home around $16k/yr. Neil as "Guard and police, excl. public service" would earn an average $6.3/hr, or a rough total of $13k/yr. Yes, Billy would earn more than his father and lo, this fic was born!
> 
> If you wondered, a female bank teller would be paid an average salary of $11k. There was no report for what male bank tellers earned.
> 
> Buying a house seems like a lot of paperwork, I still have no idea what equity is or does. Don't @ me, just enjoy the story.


End file.
